The Jokes Write Themselves
File this under: Well, that explains EVERYTHING now....
Cross file under: Pretend it's the 90s again and clutch your pearl to this news.
Jennifer Aniston and her hairstylist of forever Chris McMillan worked with a company on a new line of stuff for your hair and during a slobbery interview with WWD (via UsWeekly), he said that he was stoned into another dimension when he gave her the haircut that everyone's tia had to get in the 90s. Chris was stoned, the scissors were stoned, Aniston was stoned, they were all stoned.
And for the record, McMillan insists he was stoned when he created the oft-copied Rachel cut for Aniston in 1994. “I’m 14 years sober, so I feel safe enough to say that,” he said with a grin.
Well, I guess this means that God or Mother Nature or whoever the hell created the long-haired guinea pig was high as all hell when they created the long-haired guinea pig, because the long-haired guinea pig worked "The Rachel" long before Aniston did. And next up, I'm going to write about how Keri Russell's hairstylist was high on heroin when he chopped her hair off.
Here's Aniston and Chris McMillan at the launch of their new hair stuff in NYC the other day.
This week's issue of UsWeekly must be their annual comedy issue and I'm guessing they let Pimp Mama Kris guest edit it, because this is even more hilarious than Mrs. Doubtfire shading Kim Karcouchian on Twitter.
Over a week ago, the Kartrashian family wanted to spend some quality time in the sun with their favorite things in the world, the cameras, so they shot a vacation episode of Throwing Up with the Kartrashians in Greece. Sadly, Poseidon didn't return to Greece to spin a whirlpool under the Kardashian's yacht, sending them back to Hades, but something good did come out of their tip to Greece. I'm talking about this cover.
Ever since PMK's future money maker started growing and growing and growing in Kim's womb, some have said that she's looking like a sausage trying to escape out of its casing and that's mainly because of the ridiculous crap that Kanye throws on her body. So Kim ripped off the leather dresses and showed the haters her knocked up body. I'm all for a fame whore freeing her body of the leather sausage casing that binds her, but that picture should have the words "The Brothers Grimm Presents..." over it, because that body is a fairy tale. If you're going to show it, show it.
But in PMK's defense, if Photoshop wasn't involved in the making of that cover, then she'd lose her title as the master of fakery.
For the cover of their June issue, Red Magazine used a picture of Reese Witherspoon looking dozed off while sitting in the passenger seat of a car. ("I know that look," said the police officer who busted Laura Jeanne Poon) That picture is like a glamour shot version of Lindsay Lohan's legendary drunk mess portrait. Reese is so damn drunk in that picture that she doesn't realize that she's wearing a bedskirt as a dress!
Reese Witherspoon gave an interview to the UK's Red Magazine before she got arrested for being a mouthy, drunken mess and the quotes are made of one hundred percent pricelessness. But first, here's something smart that came out of Reese's mouth:
“Even now, in America, a woman makes 87 cents to every $1 a man makes. If you’re a black woman, you make 75 cents. You’re a Latin woman, it’s 67 cents. And this is doing the same job. There is enormous inequality in pay and inequality in the workplace to this day.”
Then Reese went on to say that when her kid Tennessee came out of her body, he must've brought her brain with him.
“Ever since I had the baby, I can’t remember anything. Serious, this child stole my brain. I’m losing friendships over forgetting to get back to people. But you can’t keep up with everything.”
So maybe Reese wasn't asking that cop if he knew her name, because she was pulling some "Do you know who I am?" shit. Maybe she was asking that cop if he knew her name, because bitch forgot it. That little fact was stored in the brain that her baby stole! Blame that brain-snatching baby Tennessee for all of this.
And then Reese said this about being a proud successful woman:
“As women, we shrug and smile and say, ‘Oh … me?’ because it makes it socially acceptable for us to be successful. But there is a balance between being an arrogant jerk and being someone who is proud of their accomplishments. We need to let successful women show off and support them. Because men don’t spend any time putting themselves down. They don’t waste their breath.”
That one is just too, too easy.
Seen above wearing the protective face net that keeps the essence of the middle class from touching her skin when she goes to the liquor store to buy American Spirits, Goopy Paltrow talked to Harper's Bazaar about her life and has once again filled my eyes with poop-covered drops of gold. Here's my favorite part out of the whole thing:
Having survived her 10th London winter (she got through January by assigning it "international month," and amusing Moses and his big sister, Apple, 9, with a visiting Italian chef, Japanese anime screenings, and hand-rolled-sushi lessons, no less), Paltrow admits that her dreams of relocating the family to their recently acquired residence in Brentwood, California, are becoming ever more urgent. "Just to have my kids be in the sun every day—picking avocados, going for a swim," she says. "Even for two years or something, and come back when they go to senior school."
So at 7 years old, Moses can probably get a job as a sous chef at Nobu and he can tell you who his 5 favorite Italian chefs are....and he can tell you in Italian. At 7 years old, I didn't even know sushi existed, the only thing I rolled was Play-Doh and my favorite Italian chef was (and still is) Chef Boyardee. THE RICH: They're not like us!
And then Goopy denied that she's ever had her face pulled, but she did get Botoxed up once:
"I would be scared to go under the knife, but you know, talk to me when I'm 50. I'll try anything. Except I won't do Botox again, because I looked crazy. I looked like Joan Rivers!"
If only they Botoxed her tongue... Well, Goopy probably figured that the shit that comes out of her mouth lets the world know that she's nuts, so there's no use in communicating that with her face too.
Finally, Goopy admits that her one guilty pleasure is sucking on an American Spirit cigarette every Saturday night. I can picture her now. Goopy lounges in the garden of her London townhouse and while Moses is inside making raw dolphin sashimi for dinner, she takes a long drag of that American Spirit and says to herself in her natural British accent, "Oh, those Americans are useless buggers, but they do know how to make a good fag. Pip pip."
The spanking monkey jokes write themselves....
Because Justin Bieber's diapers are filled with delusions, he thinks he's the second coming of Michael Jackson, so of course he has his own pet monkey. Bubbles is not impressed. The Biebs flew into Munich on Thursday with his pet capuchin monkey (a gift from some producer) and while going through customs, officials told the come-to-life Kid Sister doll that he didn't have the right paperwork and they'd have to quarantine his monkey. A customs spokeswhore told the NYDN that the monkey is currently in quarantine jail. The Biebs will have to pay whatever it costs to take care of his monkey and he'll probably be hit with a £10,000 fine.
Unlike the Biebs, that monkey is probably potty-trained, knows better than to spit in a trick's face, doesn't crash a $200,000 sports car every other week and wears pants that fit, and it's the one who gets put into quarantine?! Everything is wrong with that. If this world was a right place, Justin would be the one in quarantine jail and that monkey would be the one screeching and thrusting its crotch for thousands of fans. Germany's got the wrong monkey.
And seriously, we all know what happened to Justin Bieber's hamster (No, it didn't get lost up in his insides after he Richard Gere'd it. It died.), so that monkey is in a better place.
Nothing make you forget the week of woe you've had like getting a new look, so Justin Bieber sprinkled a few Chia pet seeds above his lip and is trying grow a stache. Instead of laughing we should all be impressed that a fetus can actually grow a thin layer of peach fuzz above his lip. Yes, he looks like a 14-year-old girl after getting her stache bleached and I've seen more hair on an actual peach, but the toddler Vanilla Ice has still achieved the impossible. So butch, so manly.
And I should be proud of myself for achieving the impossible: I made it through that post without making one Dirty Sanchez joke.
Because Anne Hathaway is off taking an extended vacation at Hedonism in Jamaica with her true love Oscar and at least one insufferable twat needs to work our last nerve at all times, Taylor Swift is still talking to magazines about the dumb shit that fills her brain on a daily basis. In case you didn't already know from the fact that Taylor Swift is a country mannequin robot who can't function unless a barely legal white boy is holding her hand, she tells InStyle UK (via DM) that at the age of 23, she is terrified of dying alone. The humorless Precious Moments figurine got all melodramatic when she spit this out to InStyle:
"What I worry about is that I never want to end up kind of a self-centred, vain human being (Ed. note: TOO LATE, BITCH!). My fears circle around me making the wrong choices and messing this up for myself. I don’t wanna end up being awful and intolerable (Ed. note: see ed. note above). Alone. Laying in a marble bathtub by myself, like sad, with a glass of wine just complaining that my life ended up alone because I pushed everyone away because I thought I was too good to hang out with anybody. The typical Hollywood sad cliché of the poor lonely starlet with no one because she put up all these walls and didn’t trust anyone. That’s my fear. And that’s why I live my life the way I live my life because I’d so much rather feel everything than end up like that."
If Taylor's life nightmare does come true and she does push everybody in her life away (by shaming their asses in a song, of course), then she'll have to push away a whole lot of people, because she says that she has at least 20 good girlfriends. She would.
"'I’m a girls’ girl. I have guy friends but the problem with having guy friends is, like, I always get linked to them and they’ll end up in a slideshow of people I’ve apparently dated on the internet. I mean, there’s all kinds of complicated things with having guys as friends. If they have a girlfriend who doesn’t like you or things like that. So I have like two or three guy friends. A select few. But I have like 20-25 really good girlfriends."
It takes me weeks upon weeks upon weeks to get together with just one good friend (and that's after both of us have canceled a million times), so I'd probably be as nuts as Taylor Swift if I had to go through that 25 times over. I already have to keep up with my own life, my dog's life, my family's life, the lives of all the dumb bitches on all the reality shit shows I watch and I'd also have to keep up with the lives of my 25 good friends?! Sweet Brown ain't got time for bronchitis and I ain't got time to deal with 25 good friends.
This is why Taylor Swift and I will always live on separate universes. She'd rather be surrounded by 25 good girlfriends and I'd rather be lying in a marble bathtub (read: an acrylic shower/tub combo) by myself with a glass of wine (read: a plastic tumbler full of that boxed wine from Target) in my hand.
Taylor thinks that becoming a regular Norma Desmond is a bad thing and that sounds like a dream to me.
Seen her in Dublin telling the paps about the first time he gazed deep up into Lindsay Lohan's black hole of cooch, Charlie Sheen is telling TMZ that he wants to be LiLo's permanent Captain-Save-A-Ho and he thinks he'd be the perfect mentor. Yeah, I don't know if Charlie wants to be her actual mentor or if he's confusing the meaning of "mentor" with the meaning of "pimp" again. If it's the latter, he'll have to win LiLo by pimp fighting White Oprah near the dumpsters in back of the T.G.I. Friday's on Long Island.
Charlie has already bailed a ho out by giving LiLo $100,000 to pay her taxes and he gave her a guest spot on his show Anger Management, and now he's telling TMZ that he wants to help that freckled vodka stain full-time. LiLo's cracked out knight in aluminum foil armor shat out these words to TMZ about helping out a fellow fuck-up:
"I have a kinship with somebody [Lindsay] who clearly needs a mentor, whether she wants one or not. She can continue to hang out with her dress shredding club buddies, or turn to me for some advice from a guy who's been down the road as well as every other side trail on the journey. If she listens, she'll win. If she doesn't, that's on her."
I love her, I respect her, and I've never laid a finger on her that wasn't on film. How ya like me now, America?"
Never laid a finger on her? That bandaged thumb tells me otherwise, because any finger that touches LiLo's crotch gets burned. And that whole line translates into, "Well, she sucked me off once, so technically I am telling the truth. No fingers were involved."
LiLo should take him up on his offer, because why the hell not? Spending at least 5 minutes with LiLo's annoying ass will make Charlie snort up every line of coke in the L.A. area and he'll pass out. Then while he's knocked out, LiLo can get into his computer and wire everything in his checking account to her account on the Caymans. It'll be her greatest heist yet.
But really, you know you've found the rock bottom of rock bottom when Charlie Sheen thinks he can help you to be a responsible and sober person.
And here's Charlie, his stack of foreskin chins and his piece of the moment Georgia Jones in his Dublin, Ireland last night.
I see that thick folder with John Travolta's name on it. It probably has more pictures of hard dick than the folder on my desktop labeled, "more pictures of hard dick, part 3."
The Hollywood Reporter has been posting excerpts from Lawrence Wright's book about Scientology called Going Clear and yesterday they shared details about John Travolta's fucked up relationship with the Cult of L. Ron Hubbard. John joined Scientology after actress Joan Prather told him about it while on the set of some crap movie called The Devil's Rain in Mexico. John started taking classes at Scientology's Celebrity Centre and was hooked after he believed that they helped him get his breakout role on Welcome Back, Kotter:
Travolta began taking the Hubbard Qualified Scientologist Course at the Celebrity Centre with about 150 other students. He confided to the teacher, Sandy Kent, that he was about to audition for a television show, Welcome Back, Kotter. Kent instructed everyone to point in the direction of ABC Studios and telepathically communicate the instruction: “We want John Travolta for the part.” At the next meeting, Travolta revealed he had gotten the role of Vinnie Barbarino -- the part that would soon make him famous. “My career immediately took off,” Travolta boasted in a Church publication. “Scientology put me in the big time.
Scientology gave John a Sea Org handler and it was the handler's job to keep him in check, manage his relationship with his fans and she even had to get Paramount to buy a large block of Scientology audits for his birthday. John's handler goes on to say that she became very close to him, but Scientology tore them apart and later manipulated her into luring him back to the cult after they felt like he was straying away. She eventually left Scientology and became a "Suppressive Person" after they kept her baby from her and punished her by throwing her in a disciplinary program. The entire excerpt is as long as Chris Brown's pencil dick, but it's a must-read. It reads like a scary novella as written by Stephen King.
Anyway, the best part of the excerpt is that the name of John Travola's former Scientology handler is: SPANKY TAYLOR! SPANKY TAYLOR! Her real name is Sylvia Taylor, but everyone calls her Spanky.
John Travolta would have a handler named Spanky Taylor. Spanky Taylor sounds like a sex act involving whips and anus clamps. It's just a perfect name. John Travolta's world would totally be a different place if he had stayed friends with Spanky Taylor. SPANKY TAYLOR!
Just when you thought Britney Spears had gotten her shit together (said no one, ever), Kevin Federline's brother Christopher drops this little bombshell on her recent behavior. According to him, she not only stole his credit card, but she's a blackmailing SUCIA brother in law fucker to boot! Ah, the days of the pink wig and umbrella are not totally behind us. Nostalgia.
In this article from Radar Online, Christopher gives the juicy details to the Enquirer on why he had to file a restraining order against her ass on December 18th.
In the papers, Christopher says Britney recently “went to Kevin’s house to pick up Sean Preston and Jayden James, and [his] wallet was on Kevin’s coffee table when Britney opened it up and stole [his] Capital One credit card.”
Christopher claimed in court docs that when he followed up on the alleged theft -- which accounted to more than $4,500 in charges -- “Britney … laughed at me [and] told me my brother Kevin ruined her life. Britney made fun of me and told me I have a small penis.
So, let me get this straight. Gross, Britney has no taste in credit cards, hops on every available thing (pulse optional), and the best part: KFed's bro has a $4500 limit (you know she maxed that shit out) AND a small one. I don't know whether to feel sorry for him or point and laugh at his ass. Okay, I do know and so do you. HAHAHAHAHAHAA!!
Capital One...what's NOT in your wallet anymore?
EDIT: My dumb ass forgot to say that Christopher claims to be Sean Preston's father!! DUN DUN DUUUUUUN *Home Alone face* This shit just keeps getting better and better!
UPDATE: Aw man, this lawsuit is bogus. I guess we will all have to put our Crazy Britney shrines back into storage.
Thanks for the pic MK!